


slice of heaven

by josiebelladonna



Series: strapping young lady diaries [2]
Category: Anthrax (US Band), Bandom
Genre: (kinda), Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Choking, Closet Sex, Cowgirl Position, Crabwalk, Eating, Edgeplay, F/M, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Full control, Gentle Kissing, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Interviews, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Public Blow Jobs, Teasing, Tummy kisses, follow up maybe, we shall see, yeah baby it's about to hot in herre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/josiebelladonna
Summary: Soon, I found myself in love with the pantry before me. Here was this girl who had given Lars all the food he could ever wish for following his divorce, and now she's beholding it onto me. Now if only she has some gelato in that freezer drawer, we'd be stylin'.
Relationships: Joey Belladonna/Original Female Character
Series: strapping young lady diaries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781404





	slice of heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Named for a line in Melanie Martinez's song “cake”—score another for my food fetish. i was watching an interview with joey the other day and literally for a good minute, he was talking about potato chips.  
> persistence of time era where he was lookin' hella fine and full faced—and yes, this is the same girl from my bikini kill one shot, jordan almonds.  
> yes, this precedes the events of that. yes, this is told from his point of view.  
> i thought of this while looking on at a can of pringles under my desk—you're so welcome 😉

The very second I get off the bus I feel a hollow sensation welling inside of my stomach. I step onto the ground and rest a hand right on my stomach. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I hadn't eaten all day.

We had been snacking on shit all day, though, and that's the thing getting to me right now.

In fact, too many times we'd be touring in a single car or van or even the bus and I'd look over at Frankie and Charlie and I'd be like, “god, I wish we had like take out or pizza or sump'n” and they'd totally agree with me.

Eh, what're ya gonna do.

Mr. Hockey Player, always hungry and “with hollow legs” as how my grandma would describe it. My face has been showing it as of late, too—I'm still very much that skinny Injun boy who showed up to audition that day in those skin tight jeans like he was trying out for Cinderella or Poison. I've never thrown out those jeans, either, and it's kind of showing, especially with the last couple of times I've washed them.

I feel myself getting heavier. My waist has widened a bit. Every time I take a seat I feel my waist to be a little thicker than the last time. My face is fuller and rounder. I just feel softer at that, too, you know?

It's not much, especially on a guy as slender as me, but I notice it especially when I'm wearing a sweater. All cozy and comfy... a li'l too comfy if I'm honest. At least I can still run around the stage with the headdress atop my head. But I feel it, though.

I hope I don't end up too heavy, though—I'd rather take good care of myself than let myself succumb to the sight of settling. I don't want to settle. Joey Bellardini doesn't settle. I'm an upstate boy: settling just isn't our thing. 'Cause we're giving it all to the City, so yeah, we can't settle.

I don't know if this is true or not, but Frankie tells me it's 'cause I'm Italian. I'm getting fuller because of my roots. He, along with Charlie, both joke about that sort of thing and how they're looking forward to it. Something about it bugs me, though.

Anyway, we're here playing a gig in Tacoma—Charlie made a bet with me that the first one of us to eat across Seattle or our next stop down in Portland has to throw one of those godawful bran muffins out the window at the next heckler on the street. There have been so far five of them and these muffins suck!

I'm rubbing my belly like I've been stabbed and I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Scott grinning at me like a madman.

“What's up?” I ask him as I run my fingers through the black curls on the side of my head.

“Did you hear?” he asks me.

“Hear 'bout what?”

“The amazing Jordan almonds is interviewing us.”

“Jordan almonds?”

“She's like a big name rock reporter 'round here,” he continues, raising those big ass eyebrows of his. “Interviewed Lars and Kirk from Metallica, Sebastian Bach, Keith Morris, Debbie Harry, Wendy O'Williams—she's still a student, too!”

“Sweet—I like her name, too.” I smirk at him. “Like Jordan almonds sound really good about now.”

“Right?” Danny joins in from my right.

“So, just the three of us or all of us all at once?” I ask them.

“I think just the three of us first,” Scott tells me as he takes off his hat and runs a hand over the bare crown of his head.

“Where are we?” asks Danny.

“Uh—this way, I think?”

Scott leads the both of us over to the building closest to us. I hope she has something to eat with her because my stomach's starting to do the thing where it's mimicking that carsick feeling. He holds the door for Danny and me and we step inside of the front hallway.

I'm taken aback by the sight of her: she's a little shorter than me with big brown eyes and long wavy coarse black hair and her skin has been touched by the sun. Like looking at the female version of myself. She's dressed to kill, but then again she's here to interview us, not fuck us silly. Her jacket fits her nicely and she's got on a little skirt that shows off her thighs.

“The infamous Anthrax,” she declares in a velvety voice. “It's honor to meet you fellas at last.”

“So how are we gonna do this?” Danny asks her with a bit of a bow of his head and his arms behind his lower back like he's flirtin' with her.

“Which of you is Belladonna?”

I raise my hand to her and she gestures me to follow her with one finger. I turn to Scott and Danny and they both smirk at me like they know something I don't.

I follow close to her and I feel my stomach give out a quiet grumble.

“Oh—was that you?” she asks me.

“Yeah, I'm kinda hungry,” I confess to her.

“There's a pantry in the room here. When I interviewed Lars—you know, Lars Ulrich—he was hungry, too. I showed him this pantry here and he ate to his heart's desire. It helped that he just got divorced, too.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Ah! Here we are!”

She leads me into this little room where there's a pantry door on one wall, due right of me. It looks like one of those rooms you'd see in school, like the teacher's lounge or something: there's a little table right in front of us and there are a couple of chairs, and aside from the pantry, that's about it.

“Want something to eat?” she offers me as she opens the pantry door for me.

“God, please.”

It's one of those walk-in pantries, one that's filled to the brim with a shit load of food, from some canned soup—even though I can readily say there's no hot plate or something like that in here—to chips to—

“Is that a pizza?” I gesture to the fully made pepperoni pizza on the little shelf to our right, right across from a low shelf jutting out from underneath my knees. It looks like it's been sitting there for a while because there's still that aroma hanging here, especially once we take another step inside of the pantry.

“It is,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye. I look straight ahead and there's a little freezer on the floor before us.

Soon, I found myself in love with the pantry before me. Here was this girl who had given Lars all the food he could ever wish for following his divorce, and now she's beholding it onto me. Now if only she has some gelato in that freezer drawer, we'd be stylin'.

“You want some?” she offers me with a grin on her face.

“Please—please, I'm dyin' here!”

She picks up the slicer there on the shelf and slices me a big fat slice. Oh, my mama's gonna be so proud!

“I've heard a lot about you, Belladonna,” she says as she hands it to me. “You're the man with the voice. The man who'll lead his band to utmost stardom—running in junction with Metallica.”

“Uh-huh, right—right—” I can't get it in me quicker. But at the same time I don't want to eat too much. I want to let Scott and Danny to have some themselves. I'm not even paying attention to what she's telling me at the moment because it's just so fucking good. It's so fucking good—it's perfect. Like she was awaiting me with this.

“You know what I mean?” she asks me.

“Hm? What?” I turn to her with my mouth full, and I notice the sly smirk upon her face.

“Oh, you know,” she says with a trailing off of her voice.

“No, I don't,” I confess to her.

“Sometimes I like to experiment,” she confesses.

“Like—how so? With the food you make?”

“Well—yes and no.”

“Throw me a freakin' bone here, Jordan, babe. I gotta know.”

But she never replies to me. Instead, she hands me another slice. She leans in closer to my face with a grin on hers.

“Get this little belly full, baby boy,” she beckons me; I feel her hand on my stomach. “I want you to feel so full.”

I raise my eyebrows at that. Baby boy. That's a new one. “The funny lookin' guy out front,” I've heard more times than I can count, but that?

I eat it up as she's watching me.

And then she hands me another one. And another one. And another one.

Did I—

Yes, I did.

I lean back against one of the shelves with my hands upon my belly. It was so good and yet I couldn't help myself: I feel so soft and warm inside. And so big and heavy.

Jordan peels off her coat and lays it on the top of the table.

“Never thought a skinny little boy could eat so much,” she remarks. “My goodness.”

She pushes her chest up against my own and I lower my hands in time for her to set one hand on my stomach. I never ate so much in my life; even feeling her hand on my belly, my skin feels so tight. The sauce from the pizza is still riddled over my lips and yet all I can smell is her perfume.

She shows me her tongue.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Give yourself to me,” she whispers to me.

“Wh—Why?”

“Because—” Through my partially closed eyes, I can see her lips approaching my own. “—because—I'm your interviewer. Give yourself to me.”

She kisses me and I feel my knees buckle. I fall right on my ass on the shelf. I'm skinny enough to lay on the shelf. But oh, my God, I'm so full. I lay down on my back to relax my stomach.

She looms over me; I can feel her legs straddling my hips. Her wavy dark hair hangs over my face like a curtain. She does... something, I don't know what, but I feel so sleepy and soft within. She lifts up the hem of my sweat shirt and I feel her fingers on my waist.

“Mmm—good boy,” she whispers to me.

Oh, I know what she's doing. Yeah, I know exactly what she's doing. She's got her hand on my belly and her lips up over my own. I tilt my head back to show her my neck. She brushes a curled lock of hair to the side for me.

“God—you're so sexy,” she whispers to me, “—so sweet—”

“Like candy?” I sputter out; I can hardly think straight.

“Like—Jordan almonds.”

I'm laying on a shelf and I'm still skinny enough for a little something… with her thighs. There's a rustling noise and I know she's taking off her panties. I feel her unbuttoning my jeans for me.

“Oh, my. Skinny boy with a full tummy—you've overdone it, baby.” I feel her run the tip of her finger around the rim of my belly button.

“Give yourself to me, big boy,” she whispers to me.

“Only if you give yourself to me,” I retort to her and I can feel my speech slurring.

“Oh—you bad boy. You bad, bad boy.”

I feel her knees on either side of my hips. I stifle a belch in my throat as I feel her reaching down my pants. I feel her fingers caressing along the sides of my length. I close my eyes to nurse the feeling. I'm warm and very full and I'm getting warmer and even fuller courtesy of her hand and fingers.

She fondles me with just one hand and it's enough for me to rise up even higher. You'd think with the amount of food inside of me would make me feel sluggish, but it doesn't: if anything it's doing the opposite. Every gentle caress on me and the skin on my belly exposed is giving me what for.

I rest the backs of my hands on my forehead because she's got it. I feel her peeling my jeans back even more. But she doesn't do anything.

“You are the best I've ever had,” she whispers into my face. I open my eyes to find her looking right into my face—like my own face staring back at me. Her dark eyes shine in spite of the shadows of the pantry: her hair spans over me. She touches my face with her free hand.

“The best I've ever had,” she repeats in a soft husky voice.

“You do this with everyone you interview?” I ask her and my voice breaks.

“Depends—” She shows me her tongue, which leaves a glisten upon her lips so they resemble cherries. A pair of cherries right above my face.

“Depends on how sexy I find the person to be.”

“P-Person?” I raise my eyebrows at that. She nibbles on her bottom lip and then she sinks back down to my waist.

“Wha—What—What're you doin'?” I ask her. “What're you doin'?”

I feel her tongue on my length.

“Oh, God, no—no, Jordan, please—I'm too full—God—”

I feel her teeth thereafter.

“Ah!”

But it's that little spike of pain there, that little nibble to break me out of that fog of comfort. She nibbles on my length again and it gets a groan out of me.

She presses her knees against the sides of my hips again and I feel her coming down on me. She's about as wet as a Slip 'N Slide so my head goes right into those lips, right into her coochie. I'm laying on my back on a shelf with the soles of my feet on the floor. I hope she doesn't break the shelf as she's grinding on me.

“I hear—you're Indian,” she says in a hushed voice. “Is it true?”

“Very much so—” I sputter out.

“Cry for the Indians!”

“Cry—Cry, baby doll, cry—”

She grinds even harder on me. The full feeling in my stomach means nothing to me now; I feel my heart hammering inside of my chest. I feel her free hand on my neck.

“Call me baby doll again,” she whispers.

“Cry, baby doll,” I blurt out and she squeezes my neck with a bit of pressure. I gasp and I feel my heart pounding even harder inside of my chest.

“Fuck—” is all I can choke out.

“Don't you dare come, baby,” she teases me. She chokes me some more and I hold my breath. It's almost too much to bear, especially when she grinds even harder on me. I'm about to reach the top; I'm about to get off when she lifts up. God damn it.

I gasp and she wags a finger in my face.

“If you come, I'm going to make you eat more,” she teases me. She takes a seat again and starts choking me again. I feel myself rising again. I can't breathe. I'm so full. I feel so heavy inside. I need to get off. I need to get off!

She lifts up again. God... fucking help me.

She sits down again and grinds me some more.

“—fuck—ma—mom—mommy! Mommy!”

She leans over my chest and gazes right into my face.

“Call me Mommy again and I'll give you a little spankin', baby,” she whispers to me. “Don't play with me.” She lashes her tongue at me. She lifts herself upright again and gyrates her hips twice more before she herself gets off; I follow suit with the type of high pitched shriek I hadn't done since _Armed and Dangerous_.

My belly is still very full and I feel so... so... so good. So unbelievably good. Stuffed full and then fucked silly. I lay my head down on the shelf and lay my hands over my bare skin.

Svelte slim tummy that's very full. Mmmm, yeah.

“Oh… Oh, man, that was perfect.”

“As perfect as you?” she teases me as she strokes my hip bone.

“Well, I dunno 'bout that,” I confess to her, “—but it was perfect.”

She kisses me right on the belly and I close my eyes at the feeling. That soft feeling right around my waist. It's sensual and underrated as fuck—even I can say that.

“Are ya gonna do the same with Scott and Danny?” I ask her in a broken voice.

“We'll see, baby,” she whispers to me as she kisses me on the belly again.


End file.
